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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121248">I'm Not The Duckling Here! You Are!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDay_ALittleMore/pseuds/EveryDay_ALittleMore'>EveryDay_ALittleMore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU Littles are Known, Angst, Booth needs a hug, Canon?, Crying, Developing Relationship, Gen, Infantilism, Insecurity, Maybe - Freeform, More tags added as I go, No Sex, No Smut, Non-Sexual Age Play, Stubborn Booth, Stubborn Sweets, Supportive Bones, Sweets knows, Trust Issues, WIP, Who's she?, even if he denies it, in the caregiver/little sense, unbetad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:41:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDay_ALittleMore/pseuds/EveryDay_ALittleMore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Littles and Caregivers are as commonplace as--something very common--Agent Booth is hiding a secret.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Seeley Booth &amp; Lance Sweets, Seeley Booth &amp; Temperance Brennan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I should really stop uploading these WIPS, but I just can't help myself :)<br/>Hoping some comments con-crit will get my little old brain into gear and help me finish this story--so enjoy! Or not, completely up to you ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sweets still couldn’t believe it.</p><p><em>Three years</em>—he’d known Booth for three years and it was only due to an incident in the field that had broken down the lies he had been living behind.</p><p>Slumping a little further in his desk chair, Sweets looked moodily out of the window.</p><p>He’d never tried to hide his classification—everyone he worked with found out sooner or later, sure, it wasn’t an icebreaker, but when you worked closely with someone these sorts of things were bound to come up. Dr. Brennan had offhandedly remarked upon her baseline status while they were out for beers, Booth making the same claim a few weeks later when Sweets came to him upset over a Little’s murder. But now—now Sweets felt he had to look every conversation he’d ever had with both of them under a microscope—because he knew that Dr. Brennan must have known about Booth, she’d known.</p><p>Sweets swiveled his chair to face his desk again, elbows coming up to rest on the table as some of his anger refocused on Dr. Brennan. In a way, he couldn’t blame her too much for taking part in Booth’s deceit. He had a feeling that given her caregiving tendencies that she had been misclassified as a child anyway—she’d probably thought she was protecting him. And they had been friends longer—Booth would always take priority for her, right next to Angela and all the rest of the team at the Jeffersonian.</p><p>Sweets squeezed his eyes shut and messaged his temples, the sight of Booth’s scared face right before he was hustled away in an ambulance burned in his mind.</p><p>He hadn’t even gone to visit Booth in the hospital—too upset to face him. That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t called Hodgins to check in and make sure Booth was all right, but that was all. Sweets needed time to process, not even returning the three phone calls from Dr. Brennan.</p><p>Sweets ran a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair, lines of unhappiness tugging his mouth down into a frown.</p><p>What it really came down to wasn’t even about Booth lying to him, it was abusing the trust Sweets had put in him—he’d confided to Booth about his friend Emmeline’s Little who he’d babysit sometimes when his caregiver instincts got too intense, how he wasn’t sure if being a caregiver he should be in the FBI, how he was glad he had a friend like him who wouldn’t judge him on his classification—how could he have ever thought that Sweets couldn’t be trusted?</p><p>Hurt swelled in his chest—his morose thoughts abruptly interrupted by a knock on his office door.</p><p>“Hello? Dr. Sweets? I hope I’m not interrupting.”</p><p>Flustered at seeing the Director, Sweets straightened in his chair and tried to look professional. “What? Oh, er, no, no not at all. I’m in between appointments. Please, sit.”</p><p>“Thank you.” The director entered the office fully and sat down in one of the chairs in front of Sweets desk, gaze thoughtful. “Well, Doctor, I’ll get right to point. As you know, due to recent events, the FBI has had Agent Booth retested. His classification has been amended from baseline to Little, ranging somewhere in the two to four range.”</p><p>Sweets had guessed as much but it was still a large shock of reality to hear it said out loud and confirmed.</p><p>“You know as well as anyone that the FBI has very strict nondiscrimination agreements with all of our employees, we hire based on merits and skill for the job required and make accommodations for those that require them.” Here the director hesitated. “I hope you don’t mind if I speak freely…?”</p><p>“No, not at all, sir.”</p><p>“Well then, these agreements, while very progressive and beneficial to everyone involved, also stop us from firing anyone due to classification.”</p><p>“You’re firing Booth?” Sweets was shocked.</p><p>“What? Oh, no. He’s one of our best agents, and we’d hate to lose him.” The director hastened to say, mouth quirking up into a smile at Sweets expense before his expression sobered. “The thing is…I’ve talked to him and suggested he use one of the caregivers the FBI employees, and he’s refused. Not only refused but downright refused. Of course, he’s under no obligation to see them, so I suggested he find himself a caregiver as soon as possible. He brought me three names. I had them checked out and found that all the caregivers he named have Littles already, hell, one of them has three.”</p><p>Sweets frowned. “He was going to have them give him a free pass?”</p><p>The Director pointed at him and smiled. “Sharp as a tack. Yes, that’s right, I even confronted Agent Booth about it. He maintains that it isn’t up to his employer whether or not he drops regularly. And he’s right. But this means that I’ll be forced to have him transferred to permanent desk duty until he finds a real caregiver. You know the dangers of having a Little out in the field without one.”</p><p>Sweets nodded grimly. He did indeed. In fact, he’d read several papers on the subject of Littles resisting their biological needs and the aftereffects. A Little that didn’t drop regularly could fall into their headspace at any time, they were volatile, irritable, at times violent, other times they became timid and indecisive—the symptoms varied from person to person of course, but one of the main themes in all of the diagnoses was that a Little that hadn’t dropped was a loose cannon. And in the field, chasing down subjects and known criminals? It was a danger to the Little, to everyone involved, and to the success of the mission. Booth had never shown poor judgment before, but now that the FBI knew his real classification, they had no choice but to treat him the same as they would any Little, despite his record.</p><p>“There’s only one option left, which is why I wanted to come and talk to you.”</p><p>“Me?”</p><p>“I know that you’re a caregiver and that you currently don’t have a Little, and I’d like you to consider becoming Agent Booth’s.”</p><p>The pencil Sweets had unconsciously taken in his hand to give himself something to play with as his mind spun at the Director’s proposal, snapped, Sweets jumping and then dropping the pieces as he tried to think of what to say.</p><p>“Uh, Director, I really don’t think that that—“</p><p>“Come now, you know Agent Booth, you won’t be intimidated or scared away by his tactics. And you’ll follow through and make sure Booth gets the attention he needs. I’m not going to order you to become his caregiver, I just want you to talk to him and make him see that if he doesn’t pick a caregiver soon, he’ll be removed from the field indefinitely.”</p><p>Shifting uncomfortably, Sweets bit his lip. Booth was his friend, even now he couldn’t think of him as anything else, but over the years, he’d come to look upon the other man as a big brother—at times even a father-figure. He wasn’t sure if he <em>could</em> become his caregiver without skewing the way he thought about him.</p><p>“I’m afraid I’ll need your answer now.” The Director cut in gently to his thoughts.</p><p>Unbidden, the image of a scared Booth came back to his mind and Sweets found himself agreeing.</p><p>“I’ll talk to Agent Booth—but, sir, keep in mind that doesn’t mean that Booth will want me as his caregiver.” Sweets warned as the Director grinned at him.</p><p>“No, no of course not, but I appreciate what you’re doing nonetheless. You’ll talk to him today?”</p><p>Sweets nodded, resigned. “Yes sir, after my last appointment.”</p><p>“Splendid. Good luck, Dr. Sweets. I hope you can make the man see reason.” The Director waved goodbye and slipped out of the officer, Sweets letting his head fall onto his desk.</p><p>What’ve I done?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whew, to be honest I never thought I'd get enough words scraped together to make another paragraph on this story let alone a HUGE second chapter--so here you go, any one who's reading this, enjoy or don't :)</p><p>Just don't forget this is still a work in progress even though it has consumed my mind for the past little while.<br/>Just saying :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sweets was still asking himself that as he walked up the front path to the Booth’s house.</p><p>He steeled himself and knocked on the door. He was here now, might as well go and get it over with.</p><p>The door remained closed.</p><p>Edging to the side, Sweets attempt to peek in through a window was foiled by wooden blinds and he moved back in front of the door. He tried knocking again. Still nothing—he could hear the sounds of the TV though, so Booth had to be home…</p><p>“Booth! It’s me, Sweets!” He called out.</p><p>…unless something had happened. With Booth still recovering from his injuries, he’d be vulnerable to any sort of attack. Starting to lowkey panic, Sweets started to reach for his phone, debating on whether or not he should call backup and lamenting that he didn’t bring his sidearm with him—and then the door swung open.</p><p>Dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, a few day’s stubble shadowing his jaw, Booth looked at him with what looked strangely like relief before he schooled his features into something more indifferent.</p><p>“Sweets.”</p><p>Still relieved that he wouldn’t have to break down Booth’s door, Sweets stared at him for a moment before answering, puzzling out the expression that had been on the other man’s face. “Agent Booth.”</p><p>“Come on in.” Booth said turning and disappearing back into his house, leaving Sweets to follow or not. He followed.</p><p>Booth cleared some magazines off the couch for him to sit down and settled himself gingerly in a raggedy looking armchair, feet kicking up onto the coffee table that had plates of food in various stages of being eaten, empty pop cans—and Sweets thanked god that Booth wasn’t stupid enough to mix alcohol and pills—sprinkled around, and old newspapers gathering by the side of the chair. He picked up a half drunken bottle of water and took a gulp, eyes watchful as Sweets sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees.</p><p>“What’s up?”</p><p>It was asked so casually, like this was just any other day, that Sweets felt his anger from before rise back up in him, eyes flashing. “Seriously? What’s up? That—that’s all you can come up with, Agent Booth? Well, since you ask—I just found out that one of my closest friends has been lying to me for years about his classification. Oh, and he nearly died. So I guess that’s ‘what’s up’.” Sweets stood and went around the couch to pace for a moment before turning back to where Booth was looking at him as though he was child having a tantrum—which, no. Okay, no. He braced his hands on the back of the couch, eyes meeting Booth’s levelly. “I can see that you’re not ready to talk about this now, or, knowing how you and Dr. Brennan like to hold our sessions, at all, and you know what, since I’m here as your friend and not your psychologist, I’m gonna let it go.” He raised his hands and drew them apart. “Letting it go.”</p><p>“Wow. Big of you.”</p><p>Sweets resisted the urge to grit his teeth and straightened up, hands straightening his jacket and tie as he put on a professional façade. “The Director has informed me about your current situation and how you’re digging your heels in when it comes to caregivers.”</p><p>“That’s none of your business, Sweets.” Booth growled.</p><p>“The FBI has certain guidelines it needs to follow, and one of them is to make sure that all field agents that are classified as Littles have a caregiver and drop regularly.” Sweets continued as though Booth hadn’t spoken. “This isn’t negotiable and your thus far impeccable record isn’t going to get you out of it. I’ve come here because the Director thinks that I’d be a more acceptable choice for a caregiver.” He noted the incredulous look on Booth’s face but pressed on. “However, should you choose to continue being stubborn, the Director will be removing you from active field duty and reassigning you to a desk job.”</p><p>“Are you kidding me? I’m one of the FBI’s best agents—“</p><p>“And nothing’s stopping you from continuing to be.” Sweets interrupted, Booth giving him a dark look as he stood up from his seat, water bottle clenched in his fist.</p><p>“I don’t want, or need, a damn caregiver. If the Director is going to push this—I’ll send in my resignation.”</p><p>Sweets snorted, arms folding as he eyed the angry man. “That’d be like Dr. Brennan quitting the Jeffersonian.”</p><p>“You don’t think I’ll do it?” Booth demanded.</p><p>“On the contrary, I think you would, and, like Dr. Brennan, should she ever leave the Jeffersonian, I think you’d be miserable.” Sweets told him bluntly. He softened, hand starting to reach out to the other man before dropping back to his side. “Booth, come on, you know there are other Littles working for the FBI, there’s nothing to be ashamed of—”</p><p>“I’m not ashamed!” Booth growled, voice rising. “This is personal and doesn’t concern the FBI! I know what you’re going to say, that a Little that hasn’t dropped is a danger in the field, yahda yahda yahda. But can you honestly say that you’ve seen me anything but professional? Huh? Aren’t I always in the zone? Don’t I always look out for the others in the field with me? Nothing has to change from how it was before—“ His voice faltered and his tone returned to a normal level, his shoulders still heaving from his recently frantic shouting. His gaze turned imploring. “Sweets, you could sign off on my mental stability—it could work, it <em>could</em>.”</p><p>Sweets looked at him dismayed. “No! No, it can’t. Booth, I don’t know how you’ve managed to suppress your symptoms so far, probably some type of illegal suppressant, but it has to stop now. Don’t you get it? It’s over—the lies—it’s done.”</p><p>“No, it isn’t! I can <em>fix</em> this, I gotta fix this…” Booth ran an absent hand through his hair and over his jaw, eyes desperate as tried to think of something.</p><p>“Booth…” Faintly glistening eyes full of despair caught onto his and Sweets felt something in his chest clench. “Look, you don’t have to pick me, you just need a regular caregiver, or even caregivers, that can help you when you need to drop. What you do during those times, it is completely up to you, anything you don’t give consent for when you’re Big, doesn’t have to happen. I know after so long of hiding your classification, it must be overwhelming to have to deal with it now, deal with everything, but you can ease your way into it…and you won’t be alone.” He’d kept his voice gentle and soft throughout and had been more than a little amazed as Booth seemed to calm down, lashes still clumping wetly.</p><p>“Promise?”</p><p>For a moment, Sweets wasn’t sure if he had heard right—Booth’s voice almost a whisper and sounding inexplicably young—and with a start he’d realized that Booth had either dropped or was somewhere in between headspaces.</p><p>“Yes. Yeah, of course I do.” He said quickly.</p><p>Booth swallowed and swiped at his eyes and then he just sort of hunched in on himself and started rocking back and forth a bit, hands rubbing his arms as he looked down at the floor.</p><p>Sweets hesitated, not wanting to spook the child obviously trying to self soothe.</p><p>“Booth?”</p><p>Booth looked at him fearfully, hands tightening around his arms.</p><p>“Hey, no, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m a friend, yeah?” Sweets tried to look as non-threateningly as possible. “Um, I just wanted to ask you a question, can you answer for me, sweetie?” He almost bit his tongue off trying to stop the endearment from slipping out but it was too late, Booth staring at him with wide eyes.</p><p>Shit! What do I do now? Sweets felt himself starting to panic.</p><p>“…sweetie?” Booth whispered. “Like your name?”</p><p>“Oh! Uh, yeah, like my name.” Sweets agreed, relieved that he hadn’t chased the kid away by his stupid caregiving. “Um. Booth, are you feeling Little right now?” He asked carefully. Seeing the suddenly anxious look on the man’s face, Sweets was quick to add that no, it was okay if he was, really, everything’s okay, I just need to know—and then Booth nodded, his face red with embarrassment.</p><p>So in between headspaces, Sweets noted.</p><p>“Okay, well. Uh, do you want me to take care of you, sweetie?” He cursed inwardly as the word slipped out again, his heart softening a little as he saw the bashful look on Booth’s face, the man hesitating a moment before nodding.</p><p>“Oh, okay. Well…” Sweets was so not prepared for this. He didn’t know a thing about Little Booth, didn’t know if he had any equipment around, though he doubted it given how closely the man had guarded his secret— “Er, are you hungry, Booth?” He asked hopefully. Food, food, he could do.</p><p>Booth shook his head. “…need the bathroom.” He whispered with a cringing look about him as though Sweets would deny him a common amenity.</p><p>“Sure, go ahead.”</p><p>Booth looked wretched his face a deeper shade of red than Sweets had ever seen.</p><p>“Um…need help…”</p><p>Ah. Sweets did his best to hide his sudden discomfort and nodded brightly. “Oh-kay. Come on then.” He winced inwardly. Might be a little <em>too</em> cheery.</p><p>Booth slowly shuffled off, glancing back to make sure Sweets was following, and lead the way into the downstairs bathroom.</p><p>The bathroom was—not something Sweets wanted to relive, yes he was a caregiver but this was <em>Booth</em>. He’d never even considered Booth to be a Little and it was more than a little awkward to undo the knots on the drawstring for his sweatpants and then stand there staring up at the ceiling because apparently Booth wasn’t too steady on his feet. And then he had helped wash his hands. Getting out of the small room was a relief, and Sweets felt guilty for thinking it, but it was.</p><p>On the other hand, it looked like Booth had dropped further, his earlier embarrassment all but gone.</p><p>“Can I watch TV?” He asked, still shy.</p><p>“Uh, yeah, yeah of course. Um, let me find something for you.” Fiddling around with the remote that was hidden in the couch cushions, Sweets turned on the TV and quickly found a channel for kids cartoons that entranced Booth as soon as the bright colours lit up the screen.</p><p>Tentatively guiding the man back to his armchair, making sure he was settled and didn’t pull on any of his stitches, Sweets took a step back and tried not to stare at Booth who was silently mouthing along to the song the cartoon cat was singing on screen—something to do with the alphabet or something.</p><p>“Hey, sweetie—“ There was absolutely no stopping the endearment now, it was like it had a mind of its own—Booth was going to be pissed when he was Big, Sweets thought wincing internally. “Um, I’m going to go and see what you have in the kitchen all right? Will you be okay in here by yourself?”</p><p>That was apparently the wrong choice of words because Booth instantly turned to him, brow scrunching anxiously, obviously not thrilled with the idea of Sweets leaving for any amount of time.</p><p>But he didn’t say anything, no pleading for Sweets not to go, no pouting—Booth just seemed resigned and sad. Like he had expected this.</p><p>Own brow furrowing, Sweets impulsively moved forward and awkwardly patted the sitting man’s head. “I’ll be right back, okay, sweetie? Promise.”</p><p>Booth bit his lip, fingers fiddling with the hem of the blanket Sweets had tucked around his legs, and then nodded. “Okay.”</p><p>Giving his head one last pat, Sweets went to the kitchen and let his head fall against the nearest flat surface.</p><p>I don’t know if I can do this.</p><p>He briefly toyed with the idea of calling someone to help, but he blanked on who that person could be. Besides, Booth had asked <em>him</em>. It may have only been the heat of the moment but that didn’t matter. Booth had <em>trusted</em> him. He wasn’t going to betray that trust by abandoning him.</p><p>Taking another moment to gather his scattered thoughts, Sweets finally raised his head away from the side of the cupboard, gaze nervous but determined as he rooted through the cupboards and the refrigerator.</p><p>Not much to choose from, Sweets thought as he looked at all the beer in the fridge. His gaze caught on the untouched block of chedder cheese squished next to a half empty gallon of juice.</p><p>Grilled cheese, he thought jubilantly. Kids like that type of thing.</p><p>…</p><p>I hope.</p><p>It didn’t take long for Sweets to have a maybe slightly too brown grilled cheese on a plate—it definitely wasn’t burnt, Sweets would swear to it in a court of law—and a glass of juice.</p><p>Going back to the living room, Sweets felt his heart clench a little at the sheer relief on Booth’s face as he looked over at him. He really hadn’t thought he’d come back, had he.</p><p>“I thought you might be a little hungry now.” He said brightly, setting the glass onto the coffee table and proffering the sliced sandwich to Booth who was still watching him as though he couldn’t quite believe he was still here. “Do you like grilled cheese, sweetie?”</p><p>Booth bobbed his head.</p><p>“Good! I mean, good. Uh, here you go then.”</p><p>Booth looked at him in surprise. “Me?” He mumbled, unsure.</p><p>Sweets blinked, careful to keep the confusion off of his face. “Yeah, sweetie, you need me to cut it more?”</p><p>Shaking his head, Booth tentatively took the plate in both hands, all the while sending Sweets furtive glances like he might grab the plate out of his hand.</p><p>One hand curling into a fist, anger at whoever had made Booth afraid to be Little bubbling up inside of him, Sweets forced a smile and pointed over to the glass of juice. “That’s for you too, okay, sweetie?”</p><p>Not wanting Booth to be too self-conscious, Sweets retook his spot on the couch and intently gazed at the television screen where there was a little boy dressed in a robot costume singing about numbers.</p><p>He could feel Booth’s eyes on him for what felt like forever—Sweets starting to rethink his choice of sandwich—when he heard Booth finally take a bite. And then another, and another—</p><p>Sweets couldn’t have stopped the pleased smile that broke out over his face even if he had tried.</p><p>After a few more minutes of Sweets pretending to watch how many sides a square has, Booth spoke timidly.</p><p>“Um. Sweets?”</p><p>Sweets turned to him expectantly. “Yes?”</p><p>When Booth—who had gotten cheese on his hands, on the blanket, and on his shirt much to Sweets chagrin—didn’t say anything just stared at Sweets hesitantly, Sweets gave him an encouraging smile. “What is it, sweetie?”</p><p>“…Juice? Please?”</p><p>Sweets felt like smacking himself on the head. He should have put it somewhere in within reach of the still injured man, not left it tantalizingly out of arms length. Getting to his feet, Sweets plucked the glass from the table and crouched down to hand it to Booth.</p><p>“Here you go.”</p><p>Using both greasy hands, Booth managed to get a tenuous hold on the glass, Sweets biting his cheek to keep from lunging forward to save the glass from an untimely demise.</p><p>Booth finished on his own though, gracing Sweets with a shy smile that seemed so out of place on his hardened face yet so right at the same time.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re very welcome, sweetie.” Sweets smiled back at him, glass and plate whisked away from their precarious perches and left on the coffee table. He eyed the cheesy blobs decorating Booth and his chair. “Hm. I think you need to be cleaned up a bit. Is it okay if I help you?”</p><p>Booth looked down at himself, seemingly for the first time noticing that not all of his food had made it into his stomach. Shrinking into the chair, gaze wide-eyed and afraid, Booth quickly mumbled an apology.</p><p>“Booth, you don’t have to—it’s okay, really—I’m not mad—“ When nothing Sweets said seemed to get through to the distraught Little that Sweets was having a harder and harder time picturing as Agent Booth, he finally reached out carefully and gave Booth’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You aren’t going to be punished for a little accident, sweetie, okay?”</p><p>Booth blinked teary eyes, expression one of confusion.</p><p>“No punishment.” Sweets repeated, correctly guessing that was what Booth was so scared of. “Promise.”</p><p>“Promise?”</p><p>Sweets nodded solemnly.</p><p>“I’ve kept my word so far, haven’t I?”</p><p>Booth thought about this and then finally allowed Sweets to lead him to the kitchen where he helped him wash his hands and face before patting him dry and then quickly retrieving a spare shirt from Booth’s room upstairs and changing out the now cheesy blanket on the armchair, the spots on the upholstery were going to have to wait.</p><p>Getting Booth into a fresh shirt proved to be a daunting task that left Sweets wondering how in the world the agent had managed to get dressed by himself. Once the dirty shirt had been pulled off—and not without a few grunts of pain from Booth and sympathy grimaces from Sweets—the fresh tee shirt required Booth to stretch too much and pulled on his wounds. After two aborted tries, Booth’s lip wobbling, Sweets finally traded in the tee shirt with a button down which went on much easier—thank god—and then Booth was settled in his chair once more.</p><p>Sweets was granted an hour of respite before he saw the other man’s eyes fluttering close only to be snapped back open a moment later. This happened at least four more times before Sweets decided to intervene.</p><p>“Time for bed, sweetie.” He said softly as he gently tugged Booth into a standing position.</p><p>“Mm.” Booth mumbled, eyes already taking on the glazed look of the walking sleepers.</p><p>Knowing that Booth wasn’t quite ready for stairs, Sweets lead him over to the couch and had him sit down as he hurriedly moved the trash off the rest of the cushions. By the time he was done, Booth was swaying where he sat.</p><p>“Here, lay down, sweetie.”</p><p>Booth obediently followed his directions and soon was tucked under a non-cheesy blanket with a pillow tucked under his head.</p><p>“Good night, Booth.” Sweets whispered, one hand stroking at Booth’s hair.</p><p>“Night, Sweets.” Booth mumbled.</p><p>Smiling, Sweets couldn’t help but give in to his inner caregiver and press a kiss to his forehead.</p><p>Embarrassed, hoping that Booth wouldn’t remember his show of affection or at least blame it on Sweets being a caregiver, Sweets turned off the TV and tidied up in the living room and the kitchen before collapsing in the armchair recently occupied by Booth. He’d lost his jacket and tie at some point, the top couple of buttons undone on his button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow.</p><p> Rubbing his face, Sweets looked at the slumbering man and, despite all his doubts that were still plaguing his mind, smiled fondly at the sight of Booth’s peaceful face.</p><p>He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but when he awoke it was to the sight of an empty couch and morning light falling through the cracks in the blinds.</p><p>Rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning, Sweets stood and stretched.</p><p>“Booth?”</p><p>Silence met his call and Sweets suddenly got a bad feeling that was only proved correct by a quick search of the house.</p><p>Booth was gone.</p><p>It didn’t take a genius to put together what had happened. Booth had woken up Big, realized that he’d dropped, and…ran.</p><p>Feeling hurt but unsurprised by the outcome, Sweets unrolled his sleeves, slipped into his jacket, left his tie in his pocket, and headed back home for a fresh change of clothes before—he glanced at his watch and winced, seven o’clock—his eight o’clock appointment.</p><p>Throughout his drive back to his apartment, Sweets couldn’t help but think that he’d made the wrong choice the other day. Of course he should have called someone to come and look after Booth, Dr. Brennan could have done everything he had without risking damage to their friendship—at this point, Sweets wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t already given Booth aid when he needed it. He gripped the wheel tighter, face pensive.</p><p>Had he gone too far? Was the pet name too much for Booth? Is that why he had left before Sweets could talk to him?</p><p>Anxiety roiling in his stomach, mouth twisted unhappily, Sweets was hardly aware his phone had started to ring until he was at a stop light and was cursing that stupid chirping sound that kept repeating itself.</p><p>Any hope he had left of Booth calling him to say they were still good faded at the caller ID and he sighed as he hit answer.</p><p>“Director, hello.”</p><p>Not picking up on his glum tone, the Director responded with all the cheerfulness of a true morning person. “Dr. Sweets! Good morning, isn’t it a lovely day? Pity we have to work…but that’s beside the point, I just wanted to call and let you know that I fast tracked the paperwork—everything should be in order by tomorrow, and Agent Booth will be back in the field as soon as medical clears him.”</p><p>A car honked behind him as Sweets stared at his phone blankly.</p><p>“Paperwork?”</p><p>“Agent Booth is efficient to a T, got it in and on my desk before I had even had my first cup of that dreadful coffee the FBI is so fond of. Anyway, all we need now is your signature.”</p><p>“My…?”</p><p>The honking growing more and more irritated by the second, Sweets pulled into the driveway of someone’s house and tried to fight down on the hope rising in his chest. “Sir, are telling me that Agent Booth filled in his caregiver paperwork?”</p><p>“I knew you could get through to him if any one could.” The Director beamed. Sweets wasn’t exactly sure how any one could beam over the phone, but the Director did.</p><p>Stunned into speechlessness, Sweets didn’t know what to feel. Happy that Booth was choosing him, upset that he had run away and left him agonizing over ruining their already fragile friendship, excited that now he had a Little, anxious that now he had a Little—</p><p>“…ah. Booth didn’t tell you did he? He can be a downright bastard at times.” There was an annoyed huff. “Dr. Sweets, did Booth even talk to you about this? Or is this just another attempt to get himself back into the field?”</p><p>“He didn’t talk to me, not exactly, but—no sir, he’s serious about this.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>Thinking about last night, wondering just how far Booth was dropped when he asked Sweets to look after him, Sweets nodded firmly.</p><p>“I’m positive. I’ll try and get to your office before my first appointment to sign those papers.”</p><p>“Excellent. And doctor—“</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Let me be the first to wish you luck with your new Little. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”</p><p>“I have the same feeling.” Sweets admitted. “Thank you, Director.”</p><p>“You’re welcome. See you soon, Dr. Sweets.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Director.”</p><p>Ending the call, Sweets sat motionless in his car for a moment before he started to get weird looks from the owners of the house he was currently parked in front of. Waving in a hopefully disarming way, Sweets got back onto the road and continued towards his apartment, his emotions all over the place as he thought about Booth. His Little.</p><p>He rolled the words around in his head for a bit, trying to get used to them.</p><p>His. <em>His</em> Little. His <em>Little</em>. <em>His Little</em>.</p><p>Giving up, the strangeness of it all too much to get a handle on in one sitting, Sweets decided to focus on what was most important—Booth didn’t hate him and their friendship wasn’t broken. Nothing had been ruined.</p><p><em>Yet</em>, a treacherous voice whispered to him.</p><p>Hands sweating, knuckles white as they clutched onto the steering wheel, Sweets let his emotions wash over him and kept driving.</p><p>One bridge at a time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Con-crit welcome, this isn't betad so any typos or errors feel free to point them out, and if you've reached these notes that means you read it so--thanks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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